


This is Bat Country [Working Title]

by sleeplesscontinuum



Category: Real Person Fiction, X-Men: First Class (2011) - Fandom
Genre: Alternate Universe - Zombies, Demons
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2012-02-18
Updated: 2012-02-18
Packaged: 2017-10-31 09:32:25
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 3
Words: 1,455
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/342513
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/sleeplesscontinuum/pseuds/sleeplesscontinuum
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Michael is a demon hunter, and has been his entire life. <br/>James is an accountant, or something equally dull, and ends up - through sheer luck - being one of the few survivors of a recent Zombie Apocalypse. They team up, due to lack of other options, and fight an oncoming demon plague, amongst other things.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> I know this has probably been done a million times.  
> Also, it's basically deriving all knowledge of various topics from either Supernatural, Zombieland, or Shaun of the Dead.

Michael’s face is bleeding, he can feel the cold drip trail down his face, and he doesn’t bother to wipe it off. He doesn’t remember the last time he bathed, and doesn’t consider appearance very high on his agenda at the current moment in time.  
He glances around, and sees absolutely nothing. Not a person in sight - just desert running for miles. He wants to shout, “We can’t stop here, this is bat country,” because it’s the only appropriate reaction he can think of after weeks on his own. He thinks he may be losing his mind, just slightly.

There’s a few shells of cars, burning and twisted sprawled over the road like mechanical dead bodies, and he’s fairly certain there’s actual corpses in there too - that is, if they’ve not already turned to zombies.  
He shudders, remembering the blood-splattered creatures grabbing at his flesh, tearing at his shirt, and he loses himself for a moment.

Suddenly a scream breaks the glass visage of dreaming, and he snaps back to reality.

“You’re alive?!” shouts the voice, “You’re a real person?!”

Michael shakes his head, trying to loosen the day-dream. He hasn’t heard a human voice in days, and his mind has taken to playing tricks on him.

“Please!” the voice continues, “Please don’t leave me here,”

Michael slows the car down, he can’t drive in this condition. He pulls up to a halt, and rubs at his eyes. White dots flash against the black of his eyelids, and he groans.

He lifts his head, and the sun glares down at him, burning hot.

He thinks the convertible car, lacking a sunroof, wasn’t the best decision. But granted that everyone would soon be either a zombie, or dead, he thought it wouldn’t matter. He hadn't expected to last this long. The demons he could handle, but he hadn't counted on zombie to take over the earth and turn everyone into the undead.

“Please, just take me with you. I’ll be no bother,” the same voice from before calls, and now it sounds closer.

Michael chances a look, and shouts a loud, “Fuck!” when he sees the sight before him.

A pale man, around his age, staring at him with a pleading look. This can’t be real. Michael’s been driving for days, and not spotted so much as one human.

His mind is playing tricks. But he can’t help himself, he leans over and gently prods the man in the arm.

The man raises an eyebrow, but says nothing.

“Y-you’re real?” Michael finally manages to say.

“Yes,” the man replies, “I thought…I thought everyone was gone. That I was the last one left,”

Michael has to laugh at that. The idea of this short, frail-looking guy being the last of the survivors in the zombie apocalypse? Not likely.

“Get in,” Michael says, gruffly, and kicks open the door of the Imapala.


	2. Chapter 2

“I’m James,” the Scotsman says, and clicks the seatbelt on.

Michael laughs at this, which causes James to prompt an answer, “What’s funny about that?”

“No, nothing. It’s just…you put on your seatbelt,” Michael replies, wind flicking his hair back against his face.

“And?” 

“Well, the world is plagued by flesh-eating zombies, and you’ve still decided to wear a seatbelt,”

James rolls his eyes, and laughs when he realizes the ridiculousness of the situation.

“Anyway, I’m Michael. Do you know how to handle a gun?” Michael asks, and before James has the chance to reply the car swerves and stops just centimetres from a boulder.

Michael jumps over the side of the car, instead of opening the door, and crouches down beside the plum-coloured convertible.

“Get down, or get out,” Michael hisses to James, and pulls a knife from his boots.

James stares, wide-eyed and confused, and Michael rolls his eyes. He grunts and gets up from the ground, and tears open the door. He grabs James and hauls him to the ground beside him, his hand presses to James’ chest and holds him pinned against the car.

“Stay here,” Michael whispers.

James frowns, and waits until Michael turns his back then scrambles to his feet. He digs around in the back of the convertible, and locates a pistol. He stares at it, then shrugs and follows Michael.

James treads quietly on the ground, but a twig snaps loudly and Michael twists around in a heartbeat. His instincts cause his to point the knife at his stalker, and he lets out an annoyed sigh when he notices that it’s his new companion. 

James squeaks and flinches, the point of the knife barely a millimetre from the tip of his nose.

“I told you to stay behind,” he murmurs, moving the knife from James’ face, and turning back to continue toward the abandoned building ahead.

“Do you go looking for trouble?” James asks.

Michael sighs, heaving and exaggerated, “Do you want to have your face torn off by the undead?” he asks, through gritted teeth.

James mumbles an apology, and slows down his steps so he can fall behind Michael.

They enter the building, and it looks even worse inside. The paint is flaking off, and there’s forgotten equipment thrown everywhere. Shadows seem to consume the hall, and there’s a layer of dust so thick it causes James to sneeze.

Michael hushes him, and they continue down the dark hall. James edges closer to Michael, as the darkness surrounds them, and the brush of Michael’s hand swinging by his side causes him to jump.

“Can’t we go back to the car?” James murmurs, tugging on Michael’s leather jacket.

Michael shrugs him off, and they both jump back as there’s a noise from the room to the left.


	3. Chapter 3

A bleeding creature emerges from the doorway, and dead eyes lock onto the two men. Michael shoves James behind him, and steals the gun from him. He points it at the zombie, and with two shots to the centre of its forehead and it falls to the ground with a thud.

“Can we go now?” James asks, “We don’t need to be here,”

“Need supplies,” Michael murmurs, entering the room and begins digging around in a cupboard.

James frowns again, and inches closer to Michael’s side. He hovers over the older man’s shoulder, inhaling the strong scent of cigarettes that soaked Michael’s clothing, there’s also a stale, damp smell that flows in the room.

“Cigarettes?” James frowns, “We’re risking our lives for cigarettes?”

There’s silence for a moment, and then James quietly laughs, to which Michael raises an eyebrow.

“Irony,” Michael says, but when James doesn’t response he just assumes his wry sense of humour is wasted.

When Michael chances a well-timed glance to the door, he notices a shadow approaching. It’s difficult to make out any details, and it could very-well just be a trick of the light, but Michael’s not willing to chance it.

“Fuck, something’s here,” he mutters, and squats behind a large metal box. He hisses James’ name, and just as James turns around a figure looms in the doorway.

“Another survivor,” James announces, joyously, but the smile fades from his face when the woman looks up and her black eyes lock onto him. There’s a feeling of cold emptiness that floods James’ veins the second he sees her. She was pretty once, or at least James assumes she was, until she steps into the light. Dark purple veins run across her skin, and she clicks her neck to the side in a distinctly unnatural manner.

“What-” James begins to say, but Michael interrupts.

“I’ll explain later,” Michael shouts, and tosses a metal pipe to James.

James raises the tube, and it collides with the woman’s side. She falls to the ground, twitching, and James actually apologizes before running out of the room. Michael follows close behind, and the two scramble back to the car.

“What- was- that,” James asks, through panicked and heaving breathes.

Michael lights the Marlboro that dangles from his mouth, “Demon,” he mutters between teeth clamped around the smoke.

“Demon?!” James splutters, his eyes wide and mouth hanging open, “Are you telling me there’s not just zombies running through town, but demons as well?!”

He’d not believe it, except that he’d just seen it with his own eyes.

“There’s a lot you don’t know,” Michael replies, blowing smoke up into the darkened sky.

“Explain it!” James shouts, crossing his arms over his chest and hugging himself to keep warm.

“An apocalypse is supposed to wipe out all of humanity,” Michael says, then adds, “The zombies are a surprise though. I thought they were just horror-movie stuff,”

“How can you be so blasé about this?” James demands, and pulls his knees to his chest.

Michael shrugs, and doesn’t elaborate any further.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I know James smokes as well, but Michael just seems so attached to his cigarettes that I imagine he really would risk shooting a few demons/zombie/etc just to get some cigarettes.


End file.
